


Memoriam

by BraveAncientSoldier



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Cultural Differences, Dialogue Heavy, Discrimination, Doriath, Elvish Customs, Elvish Traditions, In-universe racism, Lore - Freeform, Nandor - Freeform, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Sindar, Sindarin, Stereotypes, Sundering of the Elves, The Noldor, The Sindar, Wood Elves, historical criticism, i guess?, tolkien prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:02:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28530381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BraveAncientSoldier/pseuds/BraveAncientSoldier
Summary: Happy New Year!I don't own anything, just playing with the characters and their world.Once more, not beta-read and English is not my native tongue so please kindly point out any mistakes. I also do not know how English punctuation works whoops...Tried my best but I am not very satisfied with the last part of this chapter so forgive me. Galadriel was also difficult to write omg. Dialogue-heavy, you've been warned.Enjoy!
Relationships: Celeborn & Thranduil (Tolkien), Celeborn/Galadriel | Artanis
Kudos: 19





	1. Concerning history

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year!  
> I don't own anything, just playing with the characters and their world.  
> Once more, not beta-read and English is not my native tongue so please kindly point out any mistakes. I also do not know how English punctuation works whoops...Tried my best but I am not very satisfied with the last part of this chapter so forgive me. Galadriel was also difficult to write omg. Dialogue-heavy, you've been warned.  
> Enjoy!

Celeborn, Lord of Harlindon, had just finished his afternoon tea with his wife Galadriel when a servant entered the patio.  
“Excuse me, Master Pengolodh from Lindon has arrived and would like to speak to Lord Celeborn if he is willing.”,the servant said.

“Master Pengolodh?”, Celeborn looked at his wife, “Should I know him? I do not recall hearing his name before.”.

Galadriel shook her head. “I believe he is the chief-librarian of Gil-Galad but I do not know why he wishes to see you, my Lord-husband.”.

Celeborn stood up. “Very well then. I will see this Master Pengolodh in the dining room. See if we can still offer him some tea.” The servant sped away.

His radiant wife smiled at him while he brushed non-exist crumbs from his robes. “Do not fret, meleth-nin. You look very presentable. In fact, it seems you are gaining popularity in the King’s court. Any more Noldorin visits and I could fear that my kin would have forgotten about me.”.

The Lord of Harlindon rolled his eyes. “I do not think that Noldorin councilors wishing to discuss the fare tax on the golf of Rhune every other day count as admirers. If this Master Pengolodh is well-mannered he might even bring a gift for the Lady of Light.”

Galadriel smiled at him as he quickly kissed her brow and then departed. As he opened the door of the dining room an elf quickly scrambled upright from where he was seated behind a fresh cup of tea. Celeborn approached and slightly bowed his head.

“Mea govannen! I am Celeborn Galadhion. Master Pengolodh, I presume?”.

The ellon before him was slightly shorter than the regular Noldor. He had dark hair and slender fingers, attuned to handling delicate manuscript pages. He was clad in dark robes and a wine-red overcoat. At his feet lay a small, brown case.

The elf bowed respectfully and straightened. “Yes indeed, my Lord. I am Loremaster Pengolodh, chief-librarian of the Royal collections of his majesty, king Gil-Galad. Mea govannen!”

Celeborn bode him to sit and took a chair himself. “It is my understanding you wished to speak to me?”.

“Yes indeed, my Lord!”, repeated Pengolodh. “I have a small request that I believe I can only address to you.”.  
Celeborn’s eyebrows rose. He had no idea how he could help the Royal collections or their safe-keeper in anyway.

“And what would that be?”  
Pengolodh swallowed thickly and Celeborn felt a knot form in his stomach.

“Would you be so kind to share your history with me, my Lord?” Pengolodh asked nervously.

The Lord frowned: “It is my understanding that my history is well-known or at least widely gossiped among the Noldor. My lineage and travels. If I remember correctly they were some of the most popular hearsay-stories the first few decennia after my marriage.”

“Ah that was badly worded, I apologize.”, said Pengolodh as het shifted in his seat. “I meant not your personal history, you see, but the history of the Sindar.”.

“…What?”

“It is this, my Lord. Now that we are at peace, I have begun collecting and summarizing the tales of the Eldar based on the Royal collections. While doing this I realized there was a gap in the knowledge of our records. Very little is known of middle earth before the return and the crossing of the Helcaraxe by the Noldor and even less about the fabled Sindar kingdom of Doriath. What we know is fragmented, contradictory and often second-hand. First-hand accounts, the most reliable sources, are rare.” 

Pengolodh looked at his hands on the table. The temperature in the room seemed to lower a couple degrees.

Celeborn spoke slowly but clearly: “And why would the Noldor suddenly be interested in Sindarin lore, Master Pengolodh?”. 

The librarian quickly cast his eyes to Celeborn before looking at his hands once more. 

“Many subjects of King Gil-Galad, as you well know, are Sindar. It is but natural that the realm should be informed of the history of all its citizens. It could help unite us. Lord Cirdan has incredible memory but cannot tell me much about the Doriathrin life in Beleriand and I could not locate any single book or library of this time-.”.

“Your fragmented understanding of our history should be explanation enough on why there are no libraries of renown that have made it until the Second Age.” Said Celeborn. He felt irritation welling up inside him. He instantly recognized the curious, soothing presence of Galadriel brushing his mind for she had certainly felt his rising ire. He gently placated her, promising to tell all afterwards. 

“Yes, I know, forgive me steering up bad memories. I had just speculated that, if any records remained, they would be owned by Sindar princes such as yourself and if not, at least you would have the memory to put them on paper.”, explained Pengolodh while studying the grain of the wood of the table.

“What is this? Does King Gil-Galad know of this?”. Celeborn refused to believe that Gil-Galad would be so insensitive.  
Pengolodh sighed and folded his hands together. “He knows I wanted to make this request but did not gave me his blessing. Although, he neither forbade my coming. I believe he thinks me naive and foolish and told me to find a more achievable side project, though he assured me he would not hinder my ambitions for compiling a history of our people.”

“And despite these less than encouraging words, you still decided to come?”, breathed Celeborn, his jaw set.

The Loremaster finally looked up and peered straight into Celeborns eyes: “I could never forgive myself for not at least trying to preserve both histories for the future.”.

Celeborn blinked. Besides irritation he felt something else: understanding. This Noldorin scholar was not here to jest or to insult, nor to further any political plot. He just wanted to see history safe-guarded, simple as that.

Unfortunately, history is rarely simple. 

Pengolodh saw the Lord of Harlindon sitting still and speechless and duck beneath the table before appearing with his leather case.  
“As a token of my truthfulness, I have brought with me a version of my latest work. Hand copied by myself and illuminated by the best of Lindon. A real master piece! Not many will ever own such a specimen!”, he said lovingly, “It handles about my people's history, starting from-.”.

“I am aware of your history, thank you.”, said Celeborn curtly.

“Then why can I not be acquainted with yours, my Lord?” asked Pengolodh boldly. 

Celeborn sighed and rubbed his temple. “Master Pengolodh. I do not question your honourable motivations, but do you even understand what you are asking of me?”.

Pengolodh looked at him with big, curious eyes and for a moment the ancient elf reminded him of an inquisitive toddler asking why the trees were green. 

“You are correct that a few private copies have survived but they are by no means comprehensive and are little compared to the vast library in Menegroth. But Menegroth laid in the guarded realm and already then we were a guarded people.”.

The elf appeared to have stopped breathing while Celeborn spoke.

“Yet, most of our lore can still be found in living memory and if you have not heard any Sindar slip some tales to a Noldor, you should ask yourself why it is so.”.

Celeborn found he could no longer sit idle and stood up, grasping the back end of his seat. 

“I do not begrudge King Gil-Galad anything. He is a good and just king that I gladly follow. The large population of Sindar under his rule attest that I am not the only who thinks this. Yet, I am neither blind nor stupid-.”.

Pengolodh opened his mouth, as to interrupt, most likely to confirm the statement but Celeborn held up his hand. 

“I am neither blind nor stupid for I see still tension between the Sindar and Noldor folk. The growing group of Sindar preparing -willing!- to follow Amdir and Oropher to the East, is testimony to this tension. I know about the prejudices and stereotypes that exist about us.”, said Celeborn, now walking around wringing his hands.  
“’Don’t hire a Sindar if you want your house to survive one winter!’, ‘Check before walking beneath the trees, for a Sindar might fall out of it.’, ‘If a Sindar walks in your home, put your jewels on the top shelf, so the Dark elf cannot reach it.’,…” he quoted.

“My Lord!”, interrupted Pengolodh shocked, “ I do not-!”, but Celeborn bade him silence once more. 

He smiled sadly at Pengolodh: “I know these are not the sentiments of all the Noldor, least of all the King. As I said, these are observations, which you will surely be aware of unless you have never left your book shelves before. I am not blind and I do see this friction. The Sindar are no less to blame in that matter. I also understand that some do not wish to live with it and prefer to go east, away from glares and backhanded slights, away from glorious tales of a land they feel no connection too. No matter how much I wish my wife’s people and my kin to learn to love each other, I do not fault them for not putting up with the circumstances.”. 

Celeborn was pacing, agitated. Pengolodh had quietly sunk back in his seat. It was clear that he had touched an emotional matter and he deemed it smart to let Celeborn explain his part with as many words as he liked, until he made his point. Thus, though it hurt him to hear these harsh truths- truly harsh but no less true-, he decided to keep quiet and listen.

“For the Sindar,”, Celeborn continued, “we think our homelands where lost when Beleriand sank, the re-invitation of the Valar a kind, soothing gesture but also a cold reminder that unlike the Noldor, we could not go home. Everything we loved so much, guarded so fiercely is lost, destroyed and on the bottom of the ocean. Everything, except our history. The last thing truly ours, and thus kept close all the more. No Sindar is waiting for a Noldor commenting on our history. We do not wish for critiques from the Noldor, either coming from a scholar or a merchant in the street who might read your work. We do not need it dragged up every time someone feels wounded in their pride. We don’t care for opinions on our choices by those who were not there and could never understand.”

The Lord of Harlindon held still in front of the window, his figure illumanted by the golden sunlight falling through. 

“We recognize your king for he is fair and honourable and knows some of our ways. We have very little to lose and all the more to gain, but for our lore, Loremaster. We are proud of our history but it is also a painful reminder of the past. We have once written our history and maybe it is for the best if it stays there.”

He turned, looking out of the window, into the gardens towards the waves in the distance. Pengolodh remained still and attentive.

“If I tell you now, and you publish it or you even just let it slip through your lips, all Sindar will know of it and many would not easily forgive me. I was indeed once a prince of Doriath, my duty is to protect and guard and I intend to do that for the very little we have left.”.

He sighed and seemed lost in thought, wandering the paths of long-gone memories. 

“For uniting the people of Gil-Galad,”, he said finally, looking back to the loremaster, “I fear that dredging up the past, and with it all its old sores, it would accomplish the opposite. For the sake of civil peace, bygones should be bygones at least until these wounds have sufficiently scarred.”

Pengolodh noticed how he choose ‘scarred’ above ‘healed’ and realized that the Sindar would carry the First Age differently but with as much pain as the Noldor and he startled slightly when he discovered he had not yet considered that before. 

“Therefore I cannot fulfill your request, Master Pengolodh. My apologies.”, said Celeborn and he bowed his head slightly.

The chief-librarian stood up and bowed in acknowledgement. 

“I believe that a good outside perspective can only enrich the view, but I see now the wounds are still too raw. The ink should not dry sooner than the tears. I will let my request standing, if you would allow me, but I will no longer be as insensitive as expecting a positive answer soon. Take your time and think, my Lord, I will not begrudge you your decision whatever it may be. I came here out of fear of losing history and I will not mourn not gaining it, as long as it remains guarded. I feared our elflings only learning one part of the history of our folk, here in Lindon, but I will not be slighted if I am not the one teaching them the rest.”

He donned a dark blue cloak and closed his empty case. Pengolodh bowed respectfully before Celeborn and turned towards the closed door. He paused mid-stride before turning back to the Lord of Harlindon. 

“For what it is worth, Lord Celeborn- and I know that is not much coming from a Noldor in this matter- I do not think the Sindar should be done writing history.”.

Celeborn was taken aback. He stood perplexed and watched in silence as the loremaster breathed deeply, as if finding his resolve. Just when the smaller elf turned to walk out the door, Celeborn stopped him in his tracks.

“How will you return to the King, Master Pengolodh?”  
“I will tell him that the Lord of Harlindon is wise and loyal indeed, my Lord, and all my words will be true.”.

Celeborn found his wife in the seating hall tending to some plants on the window sill.  
“You are overwatering it, meleth-nin.”, he said softly.

Galadriel looked up and then back down to the drowning plant. “Oh dear! You have always been better at it than me!”. She took the plant out of the pot to let it leak.  
“On the other hand, it is all your fault for distracting me by you agitations but leaving me in the dark!”, she jested.  
Celeborn chuckeld. “Oh so that’s how it goes. I see.”. He saved the poor plant and guided her to a chaise-longue. 

“Master Pengolodh did indeed bring a gift.”, he uncovered the book of lore. “It is a collection of tales from Noldorin history.”.

Galadriel lightly touched the cover: “Why would I want to read about the idiocy of most of my family that I had to live through?”. The Lord chuckled again.

“No idea. I suspect he hoped to sway me with it for his request.”

“Which was?”

“To recall Sindarin, and especially Doriathrin history to him.”.

Galadriel held her breath. “You refused.”

“Obviously.”

The Lady of Light cocked her head: “How did he take it?”.

Celeborn wringed his hands. “Disappointed but better than expected.”. He glanced to his Lady-wife. “You think I should not have refused? May I remind you that telling it to you, whom I trust completely and won’t share it with all of the Eldar, is very different than getting it set down in book, by a Noldorin scholar none the less.”

Galadriel smiled sadly. “I don’t think you should have accepted. I just foresee that this request will haunt your mind for quite some time. I support your decision, my dear husband. After all, if you wanted it all written down you could have one of your own scholars do it.”.

After that the book of Pengolodh was forgotten and would remain untouched on the shelves of their bookcase. Years later Celeborn would gift it to Elrond to start the library of his settlement in Imladris. 

However, his Lady was correct, as she was most of the time, he grudgingly thought. The words of Master Pengolodh did not leave his mind easily and when they did they would resurface at the least opportune times. He still stood by his words, that their history was the business of their people, not the Royal Librarians in Lindon. He told stories to children visiting their home but felt it was a rather fickle way of guarding the lore. The Noldor used books and songs to pass on history but these open libraries and public story-nights would not fit well with the most guarded of the Sindar. 

One evening he was contemplating the matter again. He watched the starlight, reflected in his cooled cup of tea. It was a quiet evening, laying the nightsky bare for view. The stars seemed to look back at him. The same stars that had seen so much happen even before the sun was made, yet told none of it. He took a out a notebook and prepared the paper. He dipped his quill in ink and wrote down on the first page:

“The Private Recollections of Celeborn Galadhion, the once-prince of Doriath.”

He brushed his chin with the tip of his feathered pen. Then scratched the title in one, neat stroke and wrote:

“Concerning Sindar and the peoples of Doriath”


	2. Battle Under The Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Ring has been destroyed, Dol Guldur has been taken down and the battle in the North has been won. Celeborn has a conversation with his distant kin, Thranduil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? I update? *gasp*!
> 
> Later and longer than expected but enjoy anyway!

The woods still reeked of smoke and blood and death. The fallen had already been removed but Celeborn half expected to still stumble over a forgotten poor elf.

“So many, once more”, he thought.

The Battle of Dale had been bloody, he had been told. The Battle Under The Trees had been fiery in its turn, he had seen.

In retaliation for the burned patches of the forest, Thranduil had ordered all orcs, spiders and bats stacked unto pyres built at the black scars amongst the trees. The pyres were burning now, pushing thick grey clouds into the sky, a testimony that the forest, and its inhabitants whether tree, animal, or elf, were avenged. Celeborn estimated that the pyres would keep burning for a good long while.

He was looking for his wayward kinsman, somewhere amongst the blackened bark and trampled leaf of newly named Eryn Lasgalen. Thranduil and he had come together that afternoon to divide the forest amongst the survivors. Thranduil kept the North, as he had done for many centuries while Celeborn and the elves of Lorièn vowed to revive the South, the once-stronghold of Oropher, in exchange for settlement rights. The center was given to the Beornings and the Woodmen, who had fought bravely and, just like the elves, counted many losses.

Losses that he hoped they could drown with the bottle of wine he had retrieved from his tent.

He found Thranduil standing solemnly in a small glade with his back turned, looking up at the darkening sky, announcing dusk. Celeborn halted, unwilling to intrude on one of the doubtlessly rare calm moments of the Woodland King.

He hesitated in vain.

“I hope you have not come to bargain more of me. I already agreed to one third of the forest and I have little left to give and none of it I am willing to part with.”

Celeborn smiled and walked into the glade. “Yet, hopefully, you can still find it in yourself to receive from others.” He said, holding up the wine.

Thranduil turned to him and raised an eyebrow. Celeborn sighed and motioned to the forest and the traces of protection he could feel.

“You can let down your defenses now.”

“Force of habit.”, Thranduil replied, “It will take many more years before I can consider it.”

“Then at least rejoice the victory with one of my many overdue begetting day gifts.”.

The Elvenking was silent for a moment and then snorted. “Very well.”.

He took his staff of carven oak and graciously sat on the ground, once more looking at the sky.

“It has been a long time since the clouds could be seen from here. Though I regret the destruction that caused them to be visible, I cannot help but hope that starlight will once more grace the roots of these trees.”, he said, while Celeborn procured two cups.

“It will.”, the Lord of Light answered while uncorking the bottle.

Thranduil looked back at him. “Another hunch of your Lady-wife?”.

“I do have instinct of my own, you know.”

“Do you now?”, said Thranduil, inclining his head in mock-skepticism while taking a cup.

Celeborn made himself comfortable with his cup and refused to engage in the jest. Many centuries ago that same behaviour had earned him the label of ‘boring’ by the same ellon that was now tasting his wine.

“Is it also one of your instincts that your people will leave Lothlorièn and need Eryn Lasgalen as a new home? Why do I have a _hunch_ that Galadriel is leaving then?”.

Celeborn sighed again. Maybe he should have indulged Thranduil’s jest.

“Galadriel will indeed go into the West. The powers of the ring are fading, she says, as will the Golden Wood. She has helped the free people of Middle Earth and withstood temptation. All she wishes, is to return to her family.”.

Thranduil searched his face, but Celeborn kept his gaze blank. Two could play this game.

“At least that means that your atrocious fellowship-plan has somehow succeeded, since the rings of power are fading. That is one less concern.”.

Celeborn nodded.

“What will you do?”.

“I will not leave with her.”, he said resolute.

Thranduil looked unimpressed: “Such certainty.”.

“I am not yet ready to leave these shores.”, said Celeborn while putting his cup down, “While many of the Galadhrim may choose the same path of my wife, some will linger and will need me to establish East-Lorièn. In any case, I will remain to see Arwen get married.”

“I am unsure whether to toast on these tidings or to mourn them.”, admitted his kin.

“Do not yet mourn the living, Thranduil.”, advised Celeborn, repeating the same phrase that he kept reminding himself of.

“It also seems that my grandsons share my sentiment and will linger a while longer. The least I can do is remain here with them.”

“And influence them in their choice.”, noted Thranduil sharply.

Celeborn threw him a look. He would not admit to the intention, but he could not deny himself the hope that Elladan and Elrohir would choose differently from their sister. He loathed the idea of having none of his grandchildren when he goes to Valinor. He grieved for what it would do to Galadriel and Elrond. Perhaps the worst, would be seeing the face of his dear Celebrian, if he would disembark the ship alone, telling her that he failed in bringing any of her children.

He quickly took a sip of his wine to flush out the thought.

Thranduil gazed at him intently but wisely spoke no more of it.

“What about you? Have you given it any thought?”, Celeborn inquired.

Thranduil laughed mirthlessly. “I have more urgent matters to think about. Which reminds me, I should arrange a visit to Dale and Erebor tomorrow. The thrushes have informed me of the heroic death of King Brand and King Dain.”.

“Those are pressing, grievous matters indeed.”, he nodded, “Perhaps we should talk about more uplifting events.”.

He caught the gaze of Thranduil who swiftly looked away.

“Thranduil.”, he admonished. “What is it?”

The Elvenking did not look back at him but stared into his cup, slightly swirling around the liquid therein.

“Have you heard any tidings about...about Legolas?”, he finally said. It almost sounded as a whisper.

This was almost the opposite of uplifting events. Almost.

“I have not heard of how he fared in the last battle, no. It is much too soon.”.

Thranduil did not visibly react to that.

“Last I heard though, he was well. You trained him well.”, he complimented.

Thranduil only threw him a curt glance, tracing the rim of his cup.

“I am sorry –.”

“Let me stop you right there, Celeborn or I will not be responsible for my temper.”.

Celeborn blinked, surprised. “When have you ever been responsible for that temper of yours?”.

He noted the corner of Thranduil’s mouth twitching.

“I believe it was at the very beginning of the Second Age.”

“Ai!”, cried Celeborn, determined to steer the conversation to better moods, “Than this must herald the coming of another new Age, by Elbereth!”.

Thranduil elbowed him. Celeborn was not surprised that the first physical contact between him and his distant kin was mock violence. It was as if no time had passed.

“Anyhow,”, he backtracked, “You must look forward to whatever buffet Arwen will choose to serve in Minas Tirith. I have heard that they have quite some different dishes there.”.

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “As long as it is no more lembas. Even I tire of it, eventually.”

“My Lady-wife baked those with love!”, Celeborn protested.

“I can taste it.”, Thranduil deadpanned.

Celeborn elbowed him back. He considered spilling his wine but decided against the wasting of the excellent drink.

“This is no official, public conversation so I will pretend to not have heard that. This once.”, he announced.

“How gracious of you, my Lord!”, said Thranduil while bowing his head slightly.

“My pleasure, your Majesty!”, replied Celeborn and he reached for the wine bottle to refill the cups once more.

The bottle was near empty. When had that happened?

He handed the cup back to Thranduil and the cups made a ringing noise as they toasted.

“To new neighbours, I suppose!”, declared Thranduil.

“We already were neighbours, but very well. To well-tasted wine!”

They both drank and savoured the rich taste before sinking back in amicable silence.

Dusk had definitely fallen, and the forest was now shrouded in darkness. This time though, it was a warm shadow, promising rest, peace and quiet before a new dawn.

The two Sindar savoured the liberated forest more than they could any drink.

Finally, when the first stars started to appear, Celeborn looked back to Thranduil. He found himself immensely glad and thankful that the stubborn elf had made it. Every last long century. Despite their distance and age-old differences in opinions.

Thranduil almost looked at peace, sitting back with his face turned to the bright starlight. A sad, anxious peace, pierced by concern for Legolas, but peace nonetheless. It was more than he had observed in the entire Second Age.

“You should be proud, Oropher.”, he thought to himself and he smiled.

And then he broke the silence.

“Thranduil.”

“Hmm?”

“I do have another request.”.

Thranduil turned and blinked. The child-like innocence evaporated.

“I thought this was an unofficial talk. I already agreed to gift you part of the wood. What more could you want from me?”, he said.

“I am not asking this as lord of Lothlorièn.”

“Then as who?”

Celeborn raised his shoulders: “A fellow Sinda? A fellow Elda, maybe even?”

The Elvenking tilted his head.

“Okay, I’ll bite. You got my curiosity piqued. Go ahead.”.

Celeborn breathed before launching into a long explanation of the visit of Pengolodh, so long ago and how he had not been able to let it go.

“I have been writing and amassing documents ever since. Many good feathers have been sacrificed during the endeavor. Along the way, I realized that no matter how much I wrote or copied, it would never be complete. I have near nothing on your realm or on Oropher’s household after we went our own ways. The records thus remain incomplete!”

Celeborn had started to fidget. He slightly pulled at the sleeve of his tunic.

“I know we have had our differences but, I would like to ask of you to write some things down, it does not have to be long! In turn I offer to safekeep them and bring them with me when I sail.”, he finished.

Thranduil remained silent.

“I am not asking for any state-secrets, Eru forbid! Just anything you would consider necessary to be preserved!”

Then neither spoke for a moment. 

“I once asked Galion to find the scrolls detailing the travels of Denethor.”, Thranduil began.

“And?”, Celeborn asked surprised.

“And they did not exist. I had only ever heard the story without ever reading it. Much of what I learned in the Greenwood I learned through oral storytelling, I realized.”

Thranduil laid down on his side.

“That year I ordered a project of writing down and copying as much as possible. Many found it peculiar but they all enjoyed talking about their knowledge. The difficulty was finding enough scribes and illuminators. I even had to ask Dale for help at some point.”.

He chuckled at the memory. “Do you know how much paper and gold leaf I had to order?! Call it the extravaganza of a king; that’s what the humans did.”.

Celeborn smiled indulgently. That must have stoked the fires of gossip surrounding the Elvenking indeed.

“Did you know that there are 2356 mushroom species growing in the Greenwood?”, Thranduil continued, “ Me neither, it was rather enlightening. A specific species even evolved to grow onto trees damaged by the shadow.”.

He rolled unto his back and put his hands on his stomach, as if he hoped that a specific mushroom would make him its home.

“So you will do it?”

“I will make a selection of copies and sent them to you, though I cannot promise you it will be swift.”.

Celeborn nodded and then laid down next to him.

“Thank you, Thranduil.”, he said, without jest.

“Thank you, Celeborn.”.

Tomorrow they could start again with the titles and etiquette.

For tonight, they laid down unto the singed moss, looking at the stars through the canopy until their people came looking for them.

* * *

It was many moons later that a convoy of the Elvenking’s Halls came into East-Lorièn. Celeborn was occupied by organizing and settling those elves that did not yet wish to Sail into the damaged forest around Amon Lanc. He was just considering getting a drink when a herald announced its arrival.

Greenwood Elves, still armed (habits were supposedly hard to break after centuries), road into the settlement. They guarded a covered cart, most likely the largest one he had ever seen. Behind it with several smaller carts with a few extra provisions. A Silvan with warm chestnut hair descended from his horse and made for Celeborn. He bowed respectfully.

“Mae Govannen, Lord Celeborn of East-Lorien. I am Feren and tasked with escorting the requested supplies to your people.”.

Celeborn motioned for his people to unload the smaller carts and bowed his head: “Mae Govannen, Feren. I thank you kindly for your service!”.

Feren nodded.

“King Thranduil sends his regards and a delivery meant for yourself, my Lord.”. He gestured to the large cart upfront the convoy, still heavily guarded by the riders. He offered Celeborn a large, sealed envelope.

Celeborn took it and was surprised at the weight. After breaking the seal a stack of papers emerged, with on top a letter addressed to him. He dismissed Feren and went to look at the cart. The elves loosened the ropes and folded away the cover exposing scrolls, and books and manuscripts, neatly held in bags, baskets, and chests. His eyes widened, surprised by the amount of literature before him. He looked down unto the letter in his hands.

_Celeborn,_

He snorted. Typical Thranduil.

_Please consider these volumes with great care, as previously agreed upon. After the initiative was announced several people came forward to share some of their own notes and letters, hoping that they might be of interest in the Undying Land and their kin there. You better take good care of them or I will personally drag you back over the Sundering Seas._

_I would especially ask your discretion for a couple more sensitive documents. They are partially kept in the sealed green folder and partially in the locked beech chest. Please handle them with utmost care and scrutiny._

Celeborn looked into the cart and saw indeed the aforementioned items. He took out the keys which had accompanied the letter and opened it. He gasped.

Inside were several carefully treated bark pages and tightly knitted longitudinal leaves. They formed books with several geometric illustrations in the margins and text. It was neither written in Tengwar nor Cirth and seemed to run in the other direction. Celeborn was unfamiliar with the writing system and could not read any of it, except for a small card with neat handwriting stuck on top:

“The Avari Chronicles”

He sucked in a breath. This was more than he dared hope for. He had not even considered the Avari, mostly because he knew not how to contact them. He did not know if any Avari were even reembodied in Valinor. Someone will surely be interested in learning the language at the least. He carefully closed the chest again and glanced back to the letter.

_The Avari keep to their ways and were thus not willing to send much of their lore to the West. I have been told the documents mostly contain songs and poems for they believe that it would benefit the Valar to have some ‘good, decent arts on their pretty islands’._

Celeborn laughed and counted himself lucky that Oropher and his household had not settled even further East than the Greenwood. Surely Thranduil and the Avari would have gotten on like a barn on fire with their complete disregard for the Valar. He would have never heard anything about his kin ever again, he supposed.

_The other matter is highly personal, and I would thus request of you to keep these documents on yourself. Though I wish them to be preserved, I do not wish for them to be read by every Eldar who sees fit, on either side of the Sundering Sea. I trust that you will honour this request._

Celeborn took out the green folder and looked at the seal. It was Thranduil’s personal seal, silver and red instead of the gold and green of his realm. He carefully broke the wax and it revealed several identical notebooks, tied closed with a ribbon. He opened the top one and glanced at the title page and, with a shock, recognized the handwriting as the same in the letter.

“The Diaries of Oropher of Neldoreth: his Travels and Settling in the First and Second Age,

Copied by Thranduil Oropherion at the beginning of the Fourth Age. Book 1”

Celeborn fought the urge to slam the book closed and never gaze upon it again, knowing that Oropher would not be amused if he read it.

But Oropher was not here and Thranduil had given it to him in good conscious. He quickly skimmed through the pages; half convinced that the Woodland King was playing an unfunny joke on his behalf.

It was no joke. There were probably hundreds, thousands of pages in Thranduil’s neat handwriting, narrating the explorations of his father, his thoughts and fears, his suspicions and uncertainties. Celeborn closed it again. He could not read it. This was more open than he had ever known Oropher to be. Both he and his son were awfully private with their personal life. He could hardly recite any personal detail of Oropher, besides that he preferred mulberries over blackberries, the quaint ellon. In these notebooks nearly every mundane thing was included.

Celeborn slowly tied the book and slid it back into the folder. It was not his time to read these. Maybe he could ask Oropher himself one day. He surely wished to see his reaction when he finds out that his son has been copying his diary.

He carefully slid the folder under his arm and finished the letter.

_I would thank you for offering your services, but I am aware that the amount of information held within the gifted documents is most valuable, and in many cases unique, and thus I consider us no longer owing each other._

Celeborn snorted again.

_Thus, I hope you are satisfied with our transaction and I will still require an informing notice prior to any visits to my halls you might consider before you Sail. Meanwhile, I hope you do entertain yourself by not ruining the careful organization of these documents, as can be observed in the attached register._

_My regards,_

_Thranduil Oropherion_

The Lord of East-Lorien shook his head smiling softly. He had never had the same talent of sounding both insulting and diplomatically kind and weaving so many layers and emotions in a dry, informative letter. That alone was reason enough to bring this letter to the West and show it to Galadriel.

He glanced at the attached register. Pages and pages of titles ordered according to subject, title, author and age. He saw titles on historical lore and tales of the Silvans, life in the Greenwood, arts and crafts manuscripts, songs and poems, drawings, paintings and sketches, several maps, notula on events, dictionaries, diagrams of plants and animals, sky observations and soil descriptions, dried plants carefully sewn unto thick paper, medicinal and culinary recipes, a clothing and accessory catalogue, sewing patterns and somebody had even included a tiny, whittled scaled model of Smaug. The last part consisted of hundreds of letters organized alphabetically by the name of the intended recipient. Some of them were Lorièn elves who had already Sailed, he recognized.

Celeborn glanced back at the convoy of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil had essentially sent him his treasure vault, the only one that really mattered. If the tales of his wife were true, there were more than enough jewels already in Valinor. This was so much better. He briefly wondered if this was what Pengolodh had in mind when he came to see him all those centuries ago. Probably not, but he had a feeling that the lore master would not particularly care about how he had shaped his self-assigned role, merely that he had done it. He dared to say that those that were left behind had outdone themselves this time.

He definitely needed a drink now.

_“…but there is no record of the day when at last he sought the Grey Havens, and with him went the last living memory of the Elder Days in Middle-earth.”- the Appendices_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it says living memory but that doesn’t mean he could not also have taken written memory with him so sue me (do NOT sue me please 😊)!  
> Feren was a movie only character but I love him because his facial expressions were amazing so he gets a guest role in this.  
> In this part I wanted to highlight how often some voices are forgotten in ‘chronicling’ and how even the most mundane things can be very valuable for historians. How else would we known how many mushrooms grew in the Greenwood, amirite??? This is why I especially included the diaries of Oropher and the Avari (mundane/personal and often forgotten testimonies)
> 
> I wrote Oropher of Neldoreth because I have a small headcannon that the several forests of Doriath were given to some of Thingols kin and that the families would start naming traditions for there children based on their assigned forest e.g. Celeborn’s family and Brethil (Silver birch forest), Eol and Maeglin (Lómion or Twilight child) in Nan Elmoth (the Stardusk Valley or Twilight Wood) and thus Oropher (Tall beech) in Neldoreth (or Taur-na-Neldor, beech forest). You can ignore my headcannon of course but it seemed a safe way to bypass the problem of not knowing if Oropher had a father and who he was, hence Oropher of Neldoreth. 
> 
> Whatever Celeborn did after Galadriel Sailed is only summarized thus how long he stayed in East-Lorièn and how long he stayed in Rivendell is not specified so I took some liberties with that. 
> 
> Elrohir and Elladan will Sail. I need this HC to mend my heart.
> 
> I wrote this short fic because partial exposure, biased or incomplete history writing, loss of knowledge and languages/writing systems and the burning of libraries throughout our history are all things close to my heart. I'm a sap.
> 
> Always curious to hear your thoughts and comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Planning a second part. Don't hesitate bugging me in the comments for it. All other reviews, remarks and constructive critiques are also very much appreciated.  
> I tried to convey the difficulties and sentimentalities that come with history in general and apply it to Middle-Earth. I have not forgotten about the other elven groups! Be patient (but not too patient)!  
> Pengolodh is thought to be the in-universe source of most of the texts that Bilbo translated and compiled in his Red Book of West-March. Which forms the basis of Tolkien's writings. Pengolodh was a Noldorin loremaster and that explains why the Silmarillion and the like shows much more from their history.I am not complaining! That leaves much more playing room for fan works!


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